Fall From Grace
by damsel-in-stress
Summary: A man who will sail into a hurricane will find not only his life but his outlook on life irrevocably changed by the experience. This is the story of James Norrington's fall from grace. James/OC. Mature-rated.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is rated **Mature** and not what I tend to write. I would appreciate your feedback to see if this is IC or any good. Cheers, mates. :) It started out as a oneshot but has become a longer story. James/OC. Enjoy! ~Damsel x

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**Fall From Grace**

It was Grace who opened the door. Her expression was quickly marshalled into a smile but the initial shock at his sudden, worn appearance was evident in the parting of her lips and widening of her eyes. Former Commodore James Norrington could not look into the familiar face and pushed past the girl with unusual force.

'Sir.' Her voice was breathless.

She rallied enough to reach for his coat but he shrugged it off without her help. As he hung it roughly on the rack, she stared at him with eyes wide as a deer's. Without a word to her, he made for the stairs, turning his face away to hide any expression of shame. Alone in the hall, Grace could think of nothing to do but follow him. She reached the landing to find him dragging his heavy travelling case out from a cupboard, hands trembling with suppressed anger.

'Sir?'

James pushed past her with it, not meeting her eyes. He entered his study, hurling books into the case with uncharacteristic violence. Kicking a chair out of the way, he reached his desk and took out a drawer, upturning the contents into his case. He dropped the drawer back onto the desk and reached for a pile of paper but they slipped from his searching hand and cascaded to the floor. He swore loudly.

'Sir!'

Grace's cry seemed to sap the destructive energy from James and he froze, hands braced on the edge of the desk, his shoulders shaking with repressed tension. Grace's breathing was rapid and she hesitated in the doorway, afraid to approach the man. He stared at the top of the desk, eyes boring into the wood, before turning his penetrating gaze on Grace. She flinched at what she saw there.

'I am leaving Port Royal.' James' voice was hoarse. He paused. 'Tell everyone else, although they will hear the whole story from someone else soon, I should not wonder.'

Grace's open face broke into a frown of incomprehension. 'You only this morning returned,' she began.

'You will find out why soon enough,' he told her with a snarl.

Grace had never heard such rancour in the man's voice and she could think of no reply. James' shoulders sagged when he saw the shock in her eyes.

'The hurricane,' he said, almost imploringly, but she as yet did not know what he meant. 'I am sorry, I must leave.'

James turned back to his case but Grace sprang forward and closed it. Her eyes were overbright but her chin was set and she stared, brown eyes into green, with her face inches from his.

'What about everyone else?' she demanded.

James stared openly at her face, where shock and anger had flushed her cheeks pink and added the sparkle of tears to her eyelashes. He thought she looked intense and brilliant. Without a second thought, he leant across and kissed the girl on the mouth.

She started back, her hand shooting to cover partially parted lips. Strands of her red hair fell out of her tight bun as she moved. James had never seen her hair down before. He looked at her for a long moment, finding not a shadow of regret left in him.

'Sir,' she stammered and he could see the apology forming behind her hand.

He shook his head. 'I have wanted to do that for a long time,' he said simply. 'Something always stopped me.' His laugh was harsh. 'None of that is important now.'

Confusion was evident in Grace's face and she looked like she might bolt for the door to call someone else in the household but she hesitated. There was something in James' eyes, that had not been there when he left to follow the pirate Jack Sparrow, and Grace felt able to do something she would never have dared to before. She reached across the distance between them and stepped close so their bodies touched along their whole length. He felt tense, and solid, and cold, and Grace held him, until after the longest time he relaxed enough to slowly lift his arms to encircle her.

When Grace leant back to look into his face, he stared back squarely and touched her lips with his once more, keeping his eyes open as if to prove everything he did, he did with complete awareness. The case was left forgotten on the floor. They did not break the embrace as they turned, so Grace was between James and the desk, their bodies meeting at the waist. Deliberately James undid the ties at the top of Grace's dress, beneath her neck. She watched his sailor's rough fingers at the delicate ties and reached to help, brushing his hand with hers and feeling them trembling with things long suppressed.

His kisses became more heated. She could feel a knot of tension in his body as he pressed against her and the desperation in his searching touch. Her dress was pulled open at the top, splitting a window from her neck to waist and Grace fumblingly opened James' breeches. James stroked down her breast and stomach, her softness and smoothness lessening the sickening feeling of inflexibility in him and as he lifted her skirts he felt a reckless abandon, like laughing in the face of a hurricane.

Grace gasped as if drowning, clutching at the back of James' shirt as his usual immovability became movement and he moulded himself around her, and inside her. The desk pressed into her back with each thrust and her feet were lifted off the floor. James closed his eyes, the only sense he needed in that moment was touch.

Grace clung to his shoulders as the tension built up inside him, a concentration of feelings, finally released. When the movements eventually stopped, Grace was lowered gently back to earth. James sagged against her, too relaxed to stand. Grace held onto him, while his breathing quietened and gently stroked his hair. Neither of them spoke.

After a while, James straightened. He did up his breeches and smoothed down his shirt. Grace just leant against the desk, her dress gaping, body bare from shoulder to hip. Her skin was pale but dusky in the light, aglow from what had happened. Her lips were still parted slightly, searching for air. James looked at her one last time with a clarity he had not possessed before now and felt not a hint of regret.

He kissed her gently on the forehead and then turned to his case. He picked up the bag and turned to walk from the room. He did not look back.

/


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to ChaosandMayhem, my good friend, for beta-ing this chapter. :) We're going back before the events on the first chapter. I hope readers will enjoy this and please review to tell me if you do. ~Damsel x

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**Chapter 2**

A slight redheaded girl raised her hand to knock on a dark wooden door. The noon sun was hot in a cloudless sky and as she waited, she ran a hand across her flushed brow. The dark uniform she wore absorbed the heat and her skin was clammy with warmth as well as apprehension as she stood with her suitcase in her hand.

A dog barked from the street behind her. She turned to watch it but was startled back to attention at the sound of the door opening. An older woman stood in the doorway of the house. Her grey hair was done up in a bun and the dress she wore failed to conceal an ample shape. Her chin was stubborn but her eyes were etched with laughter lines.

'Grace Little?'

Grace bobbed her head in answer.

'I am Dorothy Macintosh,' the woman said and motioned Grace inside.

Grace entered readily, although her grip on her suitcase was tight. The hallway she found herself in was narrow and contained little in the way of personal items. She looked around with interest but saw only a coat rack to her left and a long mirror to her right. There were two doors ahead of her and a thin flight of stairs. Dorothy pointed to the stairs.

'Your room is on the second floor,' she told Grace. 'I sleep downstairs and George, the manservant, sleeps on the first floor. I'll take you to your room and then we can come down to the kitchen and discuss your duties.'

As Grace followed Dorothy up the stairs, she noticed the wall beside it was lined with portraits. Grace looked from one figure to another, realising every man was dressed in the uniform of a Naval Officer. The family resemblance could be seen in the shape of the jaw and the sea-green eyes.

Dorothy noted her gaze. 'The weights of tradition can be quite crushing sometimes,' she muttered cryptically.

Grace pondered what she meant as they reached the first floor. Once there, Dorothy stopped to catch her breath, leaning on the banister for support.

'Are you well?' Grace asked quietly.

Dorothy shook her grey-haired head. 'No.' Her reply was blunt.

Grace flushed slightly and began to attempt an apology. Dorothy held up a wrinkled hand for silence.

'Never apologise for the truth,' she ordered. 'For a long while now I have not been fit enough to perform my duties. The Lieutenant has not the heart to remove me and so another girl has been needed. Unfortunately we have difficulty keeping maids for very long in this house.'

With a small smile, she turned to tackle the second flight of stairs. Grace waited to follow her, casting a quick eye around the first floor. The walls were a bland cream colour and the floor wooden. There was nothing in the corridor except a couple of closed doors.

Under her gaze, one of the doors abruptly opened. A man strode purposefully out, dressed in uniform but with the top of the shirt unbuttoned and his dark hair unkempt.

'Beryl,' he said, pointing at Grace. His voice was deep and commanding enough that Grace froze, her breath catching. 'I shall be working late again tonight. Would you bring a tray up to me before you go to bed?'

The man turned lithely to return to his room but Dorothy called him back. Her tone was amused.

'Beryl left last month, sir, to get married. This is Grace Little. She will be starting today.'

Grace curtsied, thankful her blush was therefore hidden. 'Sir,' she managed.

Lieutenant James Norrington had stopped and was regarding the small redhead intently. She gazed back at him from under lowered lashes, feeling her cheeks warm under the scrutiny. When she straightened from her curtsy she made herself meet his eyes squarely, although it gave her no hint to the man's thoughts.

'Beryl was taller,' James Norrington finally asserted, holding her gaze.

With a polite but curt nod, he tore his eyes from Grace's and returned to his room.

'Sir,' Grace repeated mechanically as he disappeared.

Dorothy laughed lightly in the silence that followed. 'He is a good man,' she told Grace. 'He takes a little getting used to is all.'

She turned and resumed leading the girl to her room. Grace's eyes were drawn to where the Lieutenant had disappeared to and she stared at the closed door with a pensive expression. After a moment, she shook her head and hurried after Dorothy.

/

From inside the study, Grace could hear the scratch of pen on parchment. She balanced a tray on her arm and leant against the wood. For a few minutes she listened in silence and then gathered her courage. Knocking gently on the door, she waited for a reply but received nothing but silence.

She hesitated and raised her hand to try again, juggling the tray with difficulty. A noise behind her made her stop and she glanced over her shoulder to find a man looking down at her.

'George,' he announced himself, nodding his blond head lazily and letting his gaze drip over the girl from top to toe. 'I would not bother if I were you. He never eats when he is working.'

Grace's forehead creased. 'He has to eat something,' she muttered.

The manservant's lip twitched into a smile. 'You're sweet,' he told her, eyes twinkling. 'I wonder how long you will last.'

George let his gaze linger on the girl for a moment before he walked on. Grace watched him continue down the corridor and into another room, as if to make sure he had really left. Then very deliberately she pushed open the study door and entered the dimly lit room. James Norrington was sat at his desk, his back to Grace. A tall candle burned away the hours silently at his side. He did not look up as she came in.

Grace padded across the room and arrived directly beside the man. She placed the tray down firmly on his desk. At the noise the lieutenant looked up sharply.

'Thank you,' he clipped, indicating the tray.

Forgetting it almost immediately, he returned to writing. Grace clasping her hands behind her back and stood her ground. After a few more minutes, James glanced back at her.

'Did you want something, Gwen?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Grace didn't blink. 'Grace.'

'Yes.' James had placed his pen down and was looking at her with unnerving concentration.

Grace kept her face serene and looked at the floor with artificial subservience. 'I was waiting to take the empty tray back.'

James frowned. 'I have yet to eat anything.'

Grace didn't reply, rocking gently on her heels. James looked from her to the tray and back. He narrowed his eyes. From under her lashes, Grace thought she could see the smallest hint of a wry smile on the man's face.

'Come back in ten minutes and I will have eaten,' he told her, waving her away.

'Sir.' Grace curtsied lower than usual before turning to leave the room.

'Thank you,' James said, switching his attention swiftly back to his desk but as Grace reached the door and went to close it behind her, she heard James add softly, 'Grace.'

/

A redheaded woman leant against a wall in Tortuga, her hair pilled messily on her head and a brown dress clung closely around her body, the bottom sprawled in the dirty ground. The night was starless and the moon was a sickly yellow.

The woman heard footsteps behind her and a hand come down on her shoulder. Spinning round she found green eyes staring intensely into her own.

'Grace?'

The eyes clouded over and the man stepped hastily away.

'My apologies, I thought you were someone else.'

The woman laughed harshly and swivelled her hips in the man's direction. 'I can be anyone you like, sugar.'

The man backed slowly away, his expression twisted in disgust. The girl put her head to one side like a curious bird and smiled at him.

'I'll be right here if you change your mind,' she told him, pointing to the cobbles below to emphasis her point.

James shook his head and stumbled back down the squalid street. The moon gave only the barest light and for that James was glad. He did not know where he would end up now, and cared where that would be even less.

/


End file.
